


juggling flaming clubs

by notimeforemotion



Series: a spectacular sort of whiplash [4]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Gen, They all live, and also just needs to be wrapped in blankets for a little bit, eggsy has a heart of gold, i knew my gymnastics knowledge would come in handy, if you've made it this far you're not surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 09:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notimeforemotion/pseuds/notimeforemotion
Summary: In the weeks post-Poppyland, all of Eggsy's responsibilities leave him feeling a bit like he's juggling.Well, a lot like he's juggling, except there’s more clubs involved than he’s ever managed before, and they’re all on fire.





	juggling flaming clubs

The thing about gymnastics is that it’s a lot of “hurry up and wait”. 

Don’t get Eggsy wrong, he loved it. He had too much energy as a kid (possibly still has too much energy _now_ , but he doesn’t listen to what Harry or Merlin says) and so gymnastics was his dream come true. He got to run around and learn how to flip and contort his body in all sorts of ways and started to develop muscles that made the kids that called him a fag for doing gymnastics flinch.

That being said, save for the just-under-two-minutes-per-apparatus that you’re busy performing, gymnastics is a lot of sitting around. It’s sitting around and hoping that the person that’s up succeeds (in practice) or falls, but not so badly that they seriously injure themselves (in competition). Eggsy would get distracted in the wait, then wander off to go and get a drink or go to the bathroom or go break into the rhythmic gymnasts’ supply closet, and that’s the sole reason he knows how to juggle.

The clubs—they just fucking _called_ to him, a nine-year-old with too much time on his hands. A person can only run through their routines in their head so many times before they actually start to mess up in their head, and Eggsy has never been a fan of messing up. So instead he broke into the closet (not that it was difficult, just a simple lock that Eggsy had been able to crack for a year) and then kept breaking in, grabbing a couple of the clubs and trying to coordinate juggling two of them, and then three.

“Eggsy!” his coach would snap once he was inevitably found; the gym was like a huge warehouse, and there weren’t many places to hide. “You’re not training to be a circus performer, you’re training to be a gymnast.”

His fellow athletes had laughed at him, but they also looked a little jealous. Eggsy had shrugged. “I need something to go back on in case this doesn’t work out, don’t I? We can’t all go to the Olympics.”

He washed out a couple of years later. Dean came into the picture and didn’t approve of having a stepson doing faggy things like gymnastics, and Eggsy truly wasn’t fond of the waiting in between turns part.

Didn’t stop him from attempting a flip on every strip of green he came across, though. Just because he was made to quit it didn’t mean he didn’t love it.

 

-

 

The juggling, though. That’s coming in handy as they slog through what fucking Poppy Adams and the fucking Golden Circle left behind. Not that he’s actually _physically_ juggling things right now, but some days when he slinks back to the new Kingsman HQ he feels like it would be easier to.

He’s currently the only active full-time agent (Harry doing double time as Arthur and an agent whenever Eggsy needs back up, but recruitment is crucial right now whether they have a new building or not and even with Tequila filling in where he can). 

His relationship with Tilde is…on the upswing, and he’s got a ring on order for whenever the hell he has the time to plan a proposal, never mind execute it.

Merlin is recovering in Sweden under the watchful eye of Ginger (on loan from Statesman) and Swedish doctors who know better than Eggsy ever will. He hasn’t woken up yet, and Harry refuses to scout for a new Merlin on the chance that he _might_ so he brings over Amelia from Berlin to do handling duties.

There’s still people worldwide coming down with the dancing disease—Poppy manufactured a _hell of a lot_ of drugs—which means that the Statesmen are replicating the antidote pretty much 24/7 now. 

He barely has time to go and visit his mum and Daisy, but he tries, mostly squeaking them in during the hours when he _should_ be sleeping (and he ignores Harry’s disapproving look whenever he returns, because it’s not like they have a doctor on staff to bench Eggsy. Not right now). 

Then he gets a text from Roxy’s fucking number.

_Now that you’re done saving the world, do you think you could come get me? xR_

It’s a lot like juggling, except there’s more clubs involved than he’s ever managed before, and they’re all on fire.

 

-

 

He walks into Harry’s office without any preamble. He thinks, after all this, he’s got the right. “Roxy’s dead, right?” Eggsy asks, collapsing into the chair opposite Harry. His voice barely cracks on it, stretched too thin and too much adrenaline pumping through his veins, and Harry fucking Hart makes him wait.

He’s on the phone, forehead creased as he listens though he manages to raise an eyebrow at Eggsy without looking up at him. Exasperation drips off him, but whether that’s due to the call or Eggsy’s sudden appearance Eggsy can’t tell, so he doesn’t really care. He’s got a text from Roxy’s fucking number on his mobile, signed by her and everything. Roxy was in the Mansion. He fucking _heard_ the connection drop.

Harry finally says, “Thank you very much M, will call back soon,” and hangs up the phone, then he turns the full face of his ire to Eggsy. “Yes, Galahad?”

Eggsy hasn’t forgotten his mission—his leg’s bouncing up and down with barely restrained energy—but his mouth’s dropped open. “M? Like, MI6 M?”

“Eggsy, you’ve worked with this organization for a year, you can hardly be surprised that we’re in contact with MI6—”

“But _M_?” Eggsy interrupts. “I thought that was just a Bond thing—”

“Eggsy, why are you here?” 

Now, there’s this glint in Harry’s eye that tells Eggsy Harry knows _exactly_ why he’s there. Hell, Eggsy would bet that Harry’s recently wrapped up phone call would have something to do with it. Still, he doesn’t dare to hope. He repeats, “Roxy’s dead, right?” 

“Agent Lancelot was in the Mansion when it was destroyed.” 

Eggsy’s throat clicks as he swallows, and he pulls out his mobile to show to Harry. “So, this…this can’t be her.”

Harry reads the message, face impassive as always. Eggsy can tell when he stops reading because his eyes stop reading, and a few seconds after that Harry hands back his mobile before leaning back in his chair. “MI6 were charged by the government to investigate a series of missile attacks that occurred two weeks ago. As we know, they were perpetrated by Poppy Adams, and as Kingsman were devastated that left MI6 to take care of the carnage. There were very few survivors.”

There’s a new glint in his eye, like the man’s _enjoying_ this, and Eggsy says, “Please just spit it out, Harry.”

“They found Roxy in her wardrobe. She is alive and well, though with a few extra bruises to add to her collection, and they’ve just now released her.”

 

-

 

Eggsy doesn’t even ask to pick her up. He nicks a cab, sends a message to Harry promising that he’ll bring it back, and goes to where Amelia says the text was sent from.

He also stops by the closest Costa Coffee to pick up a large one of those shitty hot chocolates with the marshmallows that cost extra on top that Roxy loves because he’s a good friend.

He pulls up to the curb of Roxy’s last known location and taps a beat on the wheel as he waits. The more time that passes, the more he manages to convince himself that this is an elaborate hoax, but then there’s a knock on the back-passenger window and Eggsy twists around so he can see and she’s there.

She’s there, and she’s alive.

Eggsy unlocks the cab and Roxy slides into the seat. He pulls away from the curb without even saying hello, and he’s not quite sure where he’s going; he just knows that Roxy’s here and alive and, if it’s truly urgent, Merl— _Harry_ will get into contact with him.

“A wardrobe, Rox?” he asks when they’re stopped at a red light, heading towards the Thames (he thinks; he doesn’t know if that’s the end destination he wants or not). “Really?”

Roxy shrugs, finger combing her hair. MI6 must’ve let her shower, they’re not complete brutes, but she looks altogether unkempt and it’s throwing Eggsy a little off. “Like you said,” she replies, looking at herself in the rear-view mirror, “best agent. Do I smell hot chocolate?”

He hands it to her. “That better be the best hot chocolate you ever tasted, Roxy, I paid four pounds fifty for it—”

Roxy smells the hot chocolate and sighs loudly, cutting him right off. Eggsy would pay four pounds fifty for a hot chocolate a dozen times over if it means he never has to think he’s lost Roxy’s smile ever again.

 

-

 

Harry makes him leave for Roxy’s debrief.

“Away,” he says with a little push to Eggsy’s shoulders, in case _away_ wasn’t clear enough. “You don’t need to be here for this, Eggsy. Go and rest.”

“Rest. Right.” Eggsy hasn’t gotten a good rest since before Charlie Hesketh reappeared on his radar. He’s not too sure he remembers how to rest.

Harry must see it on his face because the man’s expression softens, even as he waves Roxy into the conference room. “This is going to be long, and you don’t need to be home for it. Go home, take a nap. Read a book with your sister. Call Tilde—but don’t ask about Merlin, Eggsy, because I will know and you’ll be on desk duty for a month before you even get back. Turn Galahad off for the night.”

Turn Galahad off. As if it were so easy. “But what if—” 

Harry’s having none of it. “That’s why Agent Tequila is here,” Harry says. “Eggsy, _go_.”

Eggsy looks over Harry’s shoulder at Roxy. She’s got the look on her eye that she had in Luxembourg before she knocked him out so that he could hit his mandatory six hours rest. It was in the middle of an extremely sensitive mission, and Eggsy was pissed that she’d done it when he woke up, but he grudgingly admitted that he’d needed it. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eggsy says. “Alright. But I’ll be back in the morning, Harry, I swear—”

Harry smiles fondly at him. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replies, and then shuts the door with a quiet _snick_ behind him.

 

-

 

He blinks awake to the sound of a camera click, eyes blinking wide. “What the—” 

“Sh, Eggsy,” his mum hushes softly, and Eggsy sh’s obediently. He rubs his face with his right hand, trying to get a read on his surroundings, and he almost panics when he can’t move his left arm but it’s because Daisy is passed out on it.

She’s sprawled half across his chest as they lay on the couch, drooling on his most recently dry-cleaned jacket as she sleeps with her mouth wide open, tiny hand fisted into his tie. Daisy’s nearly three, and Eggsy’s got her lined up for the best nursery school his Kingsman salary can buy.

She can even do gymnastics if she wants to, or rugby. He’s not picky—she can do whatever she likes. He’ll pay for it all.

“What time is it?” he whispers, voice a quiet rumble. Daisy shifts but she doesn’t wake up.

“Half-nine,” his mum replies. “I was going to wake you up earlier, but you both looked so peaceful. I should really put her to bed, though.”

Eggsy pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand and then waves her off. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I got her. You go do…whatever it is you’re doing.” Then he notices what she’s wearing: nice clothes, make up more than the bare minimum she usually puts on. “Do you have a date or something?”

She looks away from him, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry, Eggsy, I really should’ve asked if you could stay with her—”

“I can stay,” he says. “It’s not a problem, they’ve locked me out of the tailor shop until tomorrow, anyways. Just, this man—is he nice?”

“He’s lovely,” his mum whispers.

“Good,” Eggsy replies. “Because if he’s not, I’ll kick his arse.”

His mum laughs like she doesn’t believe him, like that time with Dean and his lot was a one off, but knows he’d give it his best chance. He lets her believe it, because it helps keep her away from the world where he’s a super spy and she’s a target and it’s really the little things that matter. “Whatever you say, Eggsy,” she says. “I’ll be coming back tonight. Have a good time.” 

Eggsy smiles, a little thing, and rubs his little sister’s back. “Me and Daisy? We always have a good time.”

 

-

 

He falls asleep again after his mum leaves, maybe. He blinks, he swears, but it goes from being half-nine to quarter to midnight in the space of that blink. Daisy hasn’t fallen onto the floor by some miracle, so he carefully slips out from underneath her and picks her up, then carries her to her room. She snuggles into the blankets after Eggsy tucks her in, and then he squeezes into the spare space left on the tiny mattress and closes his eyes. He’s got his own room, but he barely sees Daisy these days and there’s something reassuring about the soft huffs of her breath as she sleeps.

When morning comes, sunlight streaming through the space between the curtains and the edge of the window, Eggsy slips out of Daisy’s bed as early as he dares. He gives her a kiss on the forehead, and pokes his head in his mum’s room on the way out.

She’s sprawled out on the mattress, buried under the blankets. Safe.

Harry might kill him a little bit for being back at Kingsman this early, but the sun is up and Eggsy’s never been good at waiting.

 

-

 

Two months since Cambodia. Three weeks since Roxy. Eggsy’s still got a ring on order, and he and Roxy have started scheming on the perfect proposal. They have to ship the antidotes out with less and less frequency, and Eggsy hopes it’s because people are coming to their bloody minds and getting rid of the stashes they already have instead of using them all up. It still feels like Eggsy is juggling one too many things, but at least they’re not blazing hot with fire anymore.

When Harry calls him to the conference room in the middle of the afternoon, Roxy and Tequila are already there waiting for him. They’re sitting in their assigned seats at the table, like this is a regular debrief, except this is not the regular debrief _time_. Eggsy pauses in the doorway, lost. “Arthur,” he says, “what’s going on?”

Harry nods at Eggsy’s assigned chair. “Take a seat, if you would, Galahad." 

Eggsy walks silently to his seat. He gives Roxy a confused look, but she shakes her head slightly once.

“Glasses on, agents,” Harry says. 

It’s something Eggsy does so many times he can do it without a second thought. The glasses settle onto his nose, the holos of other agents Harry has managed to recruit come up, and Eggsy looks around at them before he abruptly stops, heart seizing in his chest.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he breathes.


End file.
